


Saudade

by SighingWinter



Series: Unspoken and Untranslated [3]
Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Age, M/M, Memories, Mild AU- everyone survives, Sorrow, Strongly Implied Major Character Deaths, everyone learns though it takes time, the passage of time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-09
Updated: 2013-02-09
Packaged: 2017-11-28 18:54:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/677747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SighingWinter/pseuds/SighingWinter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin lives and aches, living through the days in his hall with only a scrap and memories as a reminder of what was lost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Saudade

The Battle of Five Armies was finished and though his side ached fiercely due to shortness of breath and the few cuts and wounds on his face, hands, and legs- Thorin, King Under the Mountain was _alive_ along with his kinsmen, Kili and Fili. Certainly there was mourning to be done, bodies to bury, homes to rebuild, treaties to be made, and forgiveness to be asked of; but before all of that surely Mahal would not be so cruel as to not grant him a brief moment to hold his sister-sons and be glad that they were both standing and breathing.

Fili and Kili leaned into him for a few long moments but then broke away asking in unison, “What can we do?”

With grudging acceptance Thorin donned the air of a king once more, making a note to bring The Company together in his chambers sometime soon so that they might celebrate together once more before things grew too busy. “Fili gather all those that can walk without aid and send them to search for survivors. If any Orc or goblin yet lives- kill it. Aide any Man, Elf, or Dwarf that is injured off the battle field and to the healing tents. Kili- gather The Company and assign them to jobs where they might best be of use.”

Twin nods signaled their acceptance of his orders and soon Thorin found himself meeting with Dain, Bard, the Master, and Thranduil. Days passed as the rulers discussed options for their people, shares of the treasure that lay within the Lonely Mountain, and filled out basic treaties that would hold the various peoples together until they could spare the time to meet more formally and create better arrangements.

In the following months and years of repair a certain hobbit slipped his mind until one day he stumbled across something in the royal chambers that was as familiar to him as his armor. A scrape of cloth of a very familiar vest that had been worn by a being that had done all he could to ensure the fate of the Durin line.

“Bilbo….” He murmured, brushing fingers gently against the torn fabric. He couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at her lip, “to get this far…you are very good, my burglar.”

Memories, ones that he had tried to forget invaded his mind and haunted the forefront of his mind- far worse than anything ever had, even the loss of Erebor had not done this to him. It had not given him the deepest of aches that this mere _scrape_ gave him at that moment.

Worse than the memories were the bitter tears of regret that made themselves known when his eyes burned and beads of salt liquid trailed down stone dusted cheeks. Memories of the relief and hope he had felt on seeing the hobbit alive after Azog’s attack, his rescue from the dungeons of Thranduil’s forest kingdom, and his return from Smaug’s lair. He remembered holding the Hobbit in his arms in an embrace that had meant far more than he had ever told the Halfling- though nothing passed by Balin’s notice.

That scrape never left his side once he found it, even after it grew threadbare he simply cut it smaller and shaped a crystal pendant around it. Once complete the necklace never left his body, it was his one reminder- forever eternal and inescapable of what he had lost to gain back a mountain that felt empty whenever his nephews, Dis, or the company were not around him.

Though he desired to, the dwarf never once wrote to the halfing who had stolen his heart, knowing that he had done something so immensely unforgivable that even if the hobbit did forgive him- and he would for that was the type of person that Bilbo was- Thorin would never forgive himself.

Thus the ache remained as did the pendant and the memories.

The Letter came nearly fifty years to the day that the Lonely Mountain had been liberated and on that day Thorin removed himself from the throne unable to bear the heavy burden of both kingdom and heart.  The handwriting was weak, shaky; and somewhere in his heart Thorin knew that Bilbo had likely been on the verge when it had been written.

It was with pleasure that Thorin aged long enough to see his nephew’s children come into a peaceful world and to see Erebor’s light and prosperity rekindled. But even with the happy days there were also sad ones as one by one members of the Company grew old and passed into the halls of Mandos. With each passing, the _‘If onlys, should have beens’,_ and _‘would have beens’_ echoed and trailed his thoughts for many long days and nights pondering  the life that could have happened with Bilbo had he not been so foolish and blinded by gold.  September 29 at the end of the Third Age Thorin returned to his chamber and slept, but when he opened his eyes he was greeted, not by stone walls and a comfortable chamber, but by emerald grass and a very familiar face with warm caramel curls and the loveliest of blue eyes.

“Welcome home, Thorin.”

The moment that soft and gentle hand touched his, the deep aching that had buried itself in his heart and wormed its way into the very core of his being throbbed and disappeared.

In a voice, gruff with emotions far too deep to speak of the dwarf managed only five short words,

“It’s good to be back.”

**Author's Note:**

> Saudade (Portuguese): The feeling of longing for someone that you love and is lost. The vague and constant desire for something that does not and probably cannot exist


End file.
